


When A Kiss Was The Cure (And I'd Save My Breath)

by MacchiatoAmore



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Female Reader, Insecurity, POV First Person, Polyamory Negotiations, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 10:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11598354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacchiatoAmore/pseuds/MacchiatoAmore
Summary: "There’s something to be said for magnetism, for the way hearts yearning to beat together will always find each other – no matter the distance or the cost; the moment his hand met mine all those months ago, I knew we’d always find our way back to each other."





	When A Kiss Was The Cure (And I'd Save My Breath)

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song "Some Streets Lead Nowhere" by Matthew Ryan.

     _‘I hadn’t intended for this to happen,’_ I think as my shoulder blades pressed back into the cold, rough brick while my fingers tangle in straight, silky chestnut and honey hair. Large, warm palms press flat against my bare back, pulling me close, closer, impossibly close while a pair of slightly chapped lips claim my own. There’s something to be said for magnetism, for the way hearts yearning to beat together will always find each other – no matter the distance or the cost; the moment his hand met mine all those months ago, I knew we’d always find our way back to each other. I hadn’t intended for this to happen, to find myself pressed back against the wall of a bar in an alleyway with a happily married man, but we’re here, we’re here and I’m so grateful—

     “Get out of your head,” he murmurs against my lips, laughing brown eyes catching mine for the briefest of moments before he busies himself with my neck, alternating sharp, bruising bites with gentle kisses and nuzzles that leave me gasping for air, clawing at the back of his button down like I might just tear it off of him; his fingertips glide up my thighs beneath the hem of my black silk dress, stopping once they graze the delicate lace panties I’d decided on at the last possible moment, not even knowing if we’d get this far tonight, and I can feel the groan vibrate deep within his chest like a purr, sending shockwaves straight to my core. How he knows me so well, with the distance that so often spans between us and the bare handful of times we’ve been in the same room together, I’ll never understand it.

     “I’m not in my head,” I grumble, rolling my hips into his, seeking friction to ease my mounting frustration with how impossibly slow he’s been taking all of this, only to be met with hands pressing my hips back, forcing my back flat against the wall and that grin, oh that grin, you could get away with murder with a grin like that.

     “Not anymore,” he quips, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over my dress as we stand there, catching our breaths, ignoring the livewire of tension sparking between the two of us. We can’t be doing this in public, not in a place so close to his home—a place where he might be recognized. This can’t get out, but here we are, doing it anyway. “So, you uh – hah, you come here often?”

     “Oh my God, shut up, I can’t with you right now.” Our giggles are lost in the noise from the street, the constant hum of chatter and cars zooming by, and after a few moments we settle ourselves into a comfortable silence and I allow my head to fall back to get a better look at the man in front of me. The candlelight in the restaurant did a good job of masking the dark circles and lines around his eyes that the harsh streetlights and closer proximity have no problem bringing out—a side effect of working too hard, I assume—but otherwise he looks just as I left him, maybe a little bit fitter than before, and happy, that same soft, sweet smile lighting his features. I don’t want to love him, I can’t love him, but I think I’m going to do it anyway, because I’m clearly a magnet for disaster and there’s no possible way this can end well. “Thank you for meeting me for, uh, dinner.”

     “Yeah, of course. I mean, it’s not like you’re in L.A. often or, really, for very long. If I was going to see you, it kind of had to be tonight.”

     “You didn’t have to see me, Arin.”

     “Of course I did.” There’s something complicated in the way his brow furrows as he looks at me, studying me like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing, or maybe he just can’t figure it out; my heart seizes, my breath catches in my throat, and for the first time in a long time I feel like I’m drowning in all of the best and worst possible ways.

     “You should be getting home, Suzy’s bound to be missing you.”

     “She knows where I am, she isn’t waiting up.” He whispers my name then, between one strained heartbeat and the next, and the world rushes in around me in screaming color. Everything’s too sharp, too raw, and I’m struggling to figure out how I should feel about all of this. How I want to feel about all of this. “This is all okay with her, you know that.”

     “Then you should get me back to my hotel, I have a kind of early flight and—”

     “Why do I feel like you’re running from this? What went wrong, what did I do?”

     “Nothing – _nothing_ , you’re perfect. I’m…God, I don’t even…”

     “Talk to me, tell me what’s up. I can’t read minds, babe.”

     “Don’t,” it’s all I can manage, a strangled request as I pull myself away. “Just…y’know, don’t. Take me home, Ar.”

     It slips out before I have the good sense to stop it, to change my terminology, and then it’s hanging there between us as I back out onto the sidewalk; every whispered midnight conversation has ended this way, ‘ _I’d take you home with me if I could, wrap you up in my arms, I’d never let you go_ ’, and I know he’s thinking of it, too. He looks at me like I’m something he’s missing, maybe he’s always missed, and it hurts because I know it can’t last. Even if she knows, even if we have her permission, I know at the end of the day it’s always going to be her and there can’t possibly be room for me there, too.

     But I want there to be, God, I want there to be.

     “Oh-ah-okay.” And, just like that, he’s fumbling for his keys and his gaze is dropped, closed off from me. We walk back to his car numb, like strangers instead of people who’ve spent hours talking about just how thoroughly they’d like to take each other apart. Two people frequently separated by distance and circumstance, people who may never have the opportunity to meet in the middle. He still gets the door for me—because of course he does—but his eyes don’t quite meet mine and I know, I know I’ve put this distance between us and ruined the moment, maybe the whole damn thing, but I just…this is what I do.

     This is what I always do.

     Running is my specialty.

     Silence hangs heavy between us, spreads across the distance from that alley to the too big, too sterile hotel that seemed so warm and inviting when I checked in. He pulls up close to the fountain, seemingly on autopilot, but slips from the car before I even have the change to gather my things and struggle for a goodbye, something to use as a buffer between me and what I’m feeling. Of course he doesn’t give me the chance for that, he’s a pretty decisive man because he really has to be. I guess when he’s done, he’s done.

     My door opens and I clamber out, achingly aware of my painfully high heels and bruised, breaking heart, but then he grabs my elbow and pulls me flush against his chest; his rapid heartbeat thrums against my cheek and I wonder if he’s just as afraid of letting this, whatever it is, slip through his fingers as I am. I can feel the weight of the valet’s gaze on me, on us, but I can’t even care who’s watching anymore because I don’t know when or if I’ll get to do this again. I angle my chin up and feel him meet me halfway, the gentle brush of his beard against my chin grounding me in the moment, reminding me to be present.

     “Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispers millimeters from my mouth, “tell me you don’t want me and I’ll, I’ll go. I won’t bother you again—”

     “I can’t, I can’t, it’s not…it’s not you, it’s never been you, it’s me—”

     “Then let’s fix it—”

     “I don’t think we can—”

     “I don’t want to go like this. Please.”

_I should tell you, I should, I’m disaster. This is what I do. The people who know me best call me a human hurricane and this is why, God, this is why. I don’t leave survivors, you’re better off running from me now because you’re precious to me, you’re special, and I don’t want to hurt you._

     Of course, none of that comes out. I kiss him once, soundly on the lips, and then I do what I do best. I walk away. I make it into the lobby and even into the elevator before I’m yanking the bobby pins out of my hair, breathing harshly in through my nose in an effort to stem the tide of tears threatening to spill at any moment. No one’s here, I can lose my composure for a moment, give in to the ache in my chest and slump back against railing running along the wall because _dammit_ , I wanted this. I wanted him. I wanted a wonderful night that might lead into two, a reason to stop for a minute…someone to hold on to. This man specifically. I had every opportunity to rectify this situation, to explain my stupid panic and need to ruin everything good in my life because apparently I just can’t _handle_ insecurities or, really, anything personal.

     The night drags on. My phone is eerily silent, for the first night in what feels like a very long time, but I know it’s no less than I deserve as I slip out of the dress I’d picked earlier with so much hope. I change, I pack and repack, update the blog—the main reason I’m here, after all, the thing that pays my bills these days…and then I sit. The television goes all night, starts with _Ghost Adventures_ and ends on an old rerun of _Futurama_ , but I can’t remember anything I’ve watched. It’s like all of the energy drained out of me and took my ability to laugh or, really, just feel with it. Once six o’clock rolls around, I get in the shower and go about starting my day, trying to convince myself that getting out of California will be the best thing for me.

     And then there’s a knock at my door.

     I’ve only just shrugged into my all black lounging attire, pants and a tank top perfect for flying, and my hair’s still halfway in a towel when the insistent rapping begins. And doesn’t stop. I toss the towel aside with a sigh and pull on my cardigan, clutching in closed while I jerk the door open and find myself standing face to face with Suzy. There are two coffee cups tucked into her arm and she’s still mid-knock, a determined expression on her face and I have to stand back when her hand keeps going, so I don’t get hit.

     “Sorry,” she says, barely catching herself when the door disappears from under her. Looks like I’m not the only one who had a long night, judging by her lack of makeup and the tired lines at the corner of her eyes. “Can I come in? I brought coffee.”

     “Well, I mean, who am I to turn down free coffee?”

     I take the paper cup she offers and shut the door behind her, vaguely gesturing for her to sit where she likes while I take a sip of my sweet, creamy latte; how she knew my favorite, I won’t bother asking, I don’t even know if I’ve told Arin—there’s my heart, breaking all over again, and the warm liquid suddenly feels like a bunch of rocks caught in my throat that I just barely manage to choke down. My cup lands on the desk near my hip with a thump, I consider myself lucky it didn’t tip over, but when I turn to face the dark haired woman perched precariously on the corner of the hotel bed, I can see she’s not doing much better.

     Really, it’s almost a relief to not be the only one floundering here.

     “I don’t know how to have this conversation,” she admits and I nod in solidarity, sinking slowly into the uncomfortable wooden chair at the desk. “But I feel like we have to, because when my husband came home last night, he wasn’t the same man that left me maybe three hours earlier. He didn’t say much, but—like—he also didn’t come to bed, either. Did you guys…did you fight?”

     “Not…not really? Suzy, I have a flight to catch, I really don’t have time—”

     “I’m asking you to make time. Please. If the flight’s that important, I’ll pay for a later one, but just…he’s the most important person in my world and he looked so sad. I have to know why.”

     “It wasn’t...anything to do with him. He was perfect, we were having the best night, but then…like, I don’t know. We didn’t fight. I felt insecure, I just, I let it get the best of me because of course I did and it all fell apart from there.”

     “I don’t understand, insecure about what? Like, you guys have talked pretty much every day from the day you met, and he doesn’t shut up about you, I swear. He really likes you and, you know, I dated Arin for, like, half of my life, he’s not exactly subtle with his affection. What could you possibly have to be insecure about?”

     “Gee, I dunno, lots of things. He’s a good guy, a really, genuinely good guy with a beautiful wife and successful career, what the hell could he possibly want me for?”

     “What does that have to do with anything? Wait, no, I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right…it sounds like you’re intimidated, yeah?”

     “Well, okay, sure.”

     “But that’s not all of it. I think you’re scared.”

     I sip my coffee and study the tattoo sleeve that covers her left arm, following the designs until they disappear beneath the sleeve of her basic black tee; the woman is living artwork, an ode to something far different from me, from the way her dark hair cascades over her shoulder to the gentle curve of her jaw, there’s something about her that’s untouchable in all of the ways I never dreamed of being. I get it, I get why he fell in love with her, why they’re perfect together: they balance each other, as best friends so often do.

     “Of what?” I ask quietly, letting my gaze wander to the nearby window, to the bright sunshine and cars speeding through the streets below. I could stop this, finish packing, and just go, this conversation doesn’t have to happen. I can still walk away from this, I have the option, I don’t have to do this…

     “Of what you’ll lose if he walks away. If you do it, you’re in control, it doesn’t have to be something that hurts—”

     “It hurts either way.” I think that’s the thing no one understands. “It doesn’t matter who leaves, it hurts either way, probably marginally less than I do it…but I didn’t, I dunno, I didn’t sleep either. Last night. If it helps at all. I’m sorry for the way I left things with him, I didn’t know how to explain myself or…or anything, I just had to—dammit—I needed space. I felt insecure, sure, I felt scared and I just needed to get away from all of it because I just don’t have any room for it in my life. I’m busy, you guys are busy, like I just don’t see any way for this to end well—”

     “Why does it have to end? Like, that seems to be the thing you’re stuck on, a definite ending, but—”

     “Because that is all I know, Suzy.” There it is, the ugly truth. My only truth. “I started blogging out of desperation, I wanted to escape a life that felt like a dead end, and even in that new beginning…I lost things. I had to separate myself from a lot of things and people I loved in order to travel, to become a bit of a nomad, to try and build a life where I would be safe. Every new beginning is an ending, if I say goodbye to him now then it doesn’t have to break me when he decides he’s done.”

     “But what if he doesn’t,” she interjects softly, “what if you don’t?”

     “How are we even having this conversation about your husband right now? Your husband?”

     “Sure, my husband. Not my possession. We had a lot of discussions about opening up our marriage, what it would mean for us as a couple, and what we could gain…together and as individuals. Yes, I was initially the one who wanted it more, but then he met you. He met you and it was different, I wasn’t the only one with a potential partner, we were both dating again and after I met you, I dunno…I had a certain peace with the situation that I didn’t really have before. You’re good together, even just as friends, I could see it. You make him happy, in some ways you make him better. I think he’s good for you too, not that I know you very well, but I think he makes you…lighter. Happier.”

     “He does,” I admit reluctantly, draining my cup. “He makes me laugh when I don’t feel like I can, when I’m with him I feel…safer. Easier, but also more complicated? Like, I know how I feel about him but I know it’s complicated, how can it not be? The idea of loving him scares me because, well, all I can see is an ending. In a traditional relationship there’s kind of a linear progression, you know? Date, move in together, get married, have kids…that’s what he’s had with you. Kind of. I just figure I’m a distraction, something fun until you guys decide you’re ready to have a family, then he’ll be done with me and where will I be? I mean, it’s not like I’m gonna move in with you guys and we’re all gonna live together as one big, happy family—”

     “Why not?” She cocks her head, green eyes studying me from beneath long black lashes. “I wouldn’t have a problem with that, would you?”

     “Well…I mean, I guess not?”

     “You keep closing yourself off from the possibility of happiness, from the possibility of this being something amazing instead of something terrible that breaks you and I…I hate it, for you and for Arin, too, because it’s just making you both unnecessarily unhappy. You’re getting in your own way here. I’m not standing between you, I promise you that I’m never going to try to; your relationship with him is your own, all I want is for you to treat him well. Be happy together. Look, it’s probably not my place, but I’m gonna make you a promise and I have to ask you to just trust it. Trust me. Go out on a limb here.”

     “Okay…?”

     “I promise you, as someone who hopes to be a good friend to you, if nothing else…I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to keep your feelings in mind, I’m never going to intentionally discount your feelings or your point-of-view, and…and I’m never going to try to come between you and Arin. Look, if I have a moment of jealousy or insecurity, that’s my problem and I’ll sort through it with him. I’m going to try to never take my issues out on you, whatever that means for me. I don’t know if that eases your insecurity at all, I don’t know if it helps put you at ease, I really want you to feel like you can come to me.”

     “I see that.”

     “So stop running, just…just stop. Come home with me, stay with us for a few days and work things out with him. Surely whatever you’re running off to can wait, even if it can’t…I’m asking you to stay. We can get to know each other better, you can lay out all of your fears, and I think you’ll find you have nothing to worry about, really. I can’t guarantee anything, obviously I can’t see the future, but I just…I have a good feeling about this. Come home with me.”

     Everything in me wants to say no, despite her optimism and her promises, I want to walk out of this room and get on a plane, never look back because that’s just what I’ve always done…but there it is, that pitiful little thread of hope, still hanging on, an anchor for a new thread beginning to emerge: trust. I want to trust this woman because she’s been kind to me when she didn’t have to be; honest with me when it might have been more of a benefit to her to lie. For the first time in my life, I find myself pushing away the fears and doubts and anxiety I’ve allowed to drive me and I just…hope.

     All it takes is a nod. We collect my things, checkout of my room just before my official checkout time, and I follow her mutely to the car. I steal a few glances at my hostess during the drive: she looks as tired as I feel, laying yourself bare really takes a lot out of you, but there’s a happy smile tugging at the corner of her lips that feels infectious and, after a few deep breaths, I let myself feel it too.

     Their house is beautiful, she starts explaining where everything is the moment we hit the door, but everything becomes a blur of meowing cats, taxidermy, and something that smells so much like home I can feel the ache at the core of my being. It’s like longing and I don’t know how to deal with it, so I just tuck it away for later. We find the guest bedroom upstairs and set my things down in it, suddenly it’s like a wave of exhaustion washes over me and I sink down onto the black and white comforter, completely oblivious to anything else. Suzy’s talking through what sounds like an entire ocean, I can barely make out what she’s saying, but I guess whatever it is doesn’t really matter because she leaves me to the plush bedding and I just let go, allowing sleep to drag me under.

     Waking up is like being saved from drowning: a deep gasp of breath, my body twitches, and I struggle to make sense of my surroundings. I’m facing the wall, staring at the shadows a taxidermy crow casts in the orange, late afternoon light streaming in through the window. ‘ _Keep it together,’_ becomes a chant in my head as I stroke the soft cotton pillowcase beneath my cheek; exhaustion clings to me like an old lover, curled up around my bones, threatening to drag me back under while my mind works at while feels like a mile a minute, trying to process and play catch up with the last twenty-four hours and, really, it all just feels like one giant, anxiety-induced nightmare but this is my body and—

     A warm hand presses gently beneath my shoulder blade, halting everything. It’s bigger than mine—twice the size—and I’d know it anywhere, I swear I would. My breath catches in my throat, but I turn into the touch anyway and allow it to roll my onto my back until I’m met with a pair of tired brown eyes and soft, warm breath gently huffed against my face; we’re close enough to cuddle, but I don’t know where to put my hands while his seems to be frozen where it landed against the inside of my elbow.

     “You’re here,” he whispers tentatively, his fingers twitching against the fabric of my cardigan.

     “I am.” My left hand comes to rest against my sternum after fluttering uncertainly for a moment, torn between my desire to reach over to pull him to me and not wanting to shatter the bubble of calm surrounding us, protecting us from something that feels much bigger and more complicated than I want to deal with after a day-long nap. “I meant to see you when I got here, I guess I was tired.”

     “It’s…I went to work, so I wasn’t…it’s good to have you here. I didn’t expect to see you again.”

     “Yeah, well, your wife’s a bit of a force to be reckoned with when she’s got something on her mind.”

     “No kidding.” The silence hangs between us, the ghost of a heavy thing pressing against my chest and I want to speak, if only to relieve the pressure, but then I’m met with, “you don’t have to be here, you know?”

     “Do you…not want me here?”

     “Of course I do, I…of course I do. I don’t want you to run from me again, I just…I don’t want you to be here if it hurts you to do it.”

     “It’s not you. I told you last night it wasn’t you and I meant it, it’s all me.”

     “I guess I just don’t understand…”

     “How could you? Baby, you and I are on two different sides of this divide and I can’t possibly see it from your angle, I can only see it from mine. I’ve had feelings for you from the moment we met, but you know that…you don’t know, you can’t understand the kind of fear that accompanies it, though. Like, I don’t want to be left again, Ar, and I keep thinking you’ll realize you already have it all and, really, who could possibly want more? Then I’ll be left alone and I just…it’s easier to walk away before you have the chance to do it—”

     “Stop, stop. Shhh.” Fingertips brush against my cheekbone, smearing a teardrop I hadn’t even noticed forming, and I swallow against the lump in my throat while soft lips rain kisses down on my cheeks, forehead, and eyelids. My hands find purchase in his shirt and I cling, unashamed, craving shelter from my own emotional storm.

     “I don’t know how to do this,” I mumble into his neck, where I’ve elected to hide my face as he wraps his arms more firmly around me, holding me here in a way he couldn’t manage to last night. A way I wouldn’t let him. “But I don’t want to do it with anyone else.”

     “I’m not using you to fill a void. You’re not here because…because I think I’m missing something, I know I’m not. I also know that I have a lot of love to give and I’d like to share it with you, if you’ll let me. You have to want to let me.”

     “I do.”

     “I’m not going anywhere.”

     “You say that now…”

     “I’ll keep saying it. I can’t change your mind, only you can do that, but I’ll say it for as long as you need me to. I mean it, I do: I’m not going anywhere. I’m your friend, I’m not going to leave you, but I can’t make you stay if you don’t want to. This has to work both ways, you have to want it, too.”

     “I do, I…I do. I’m here for as long as…for as long as you guys want me to be. You and Suzy. I can…work from here, that’s why I became I writer. I can write anywhere, about anything, so I can…I can stay. If you want me to stay.”

     “I want you to stay. We want you to stay.”

     “I’ll stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I don't even know if this is good or it makes sense. But if you're here, if you made it all the way to the end, thank you for reading. I've been working on this off and on for a month, so I figured it should probably see the light of day.


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